Wake Up

This place I find you

the clouds mirrored in your 

eyes 

daylight                                 

a shade too misleading

Nightmare

silence a mocking foe

shrouded               in hope

I was waiting where did you go        

you cannot say and I         I just do not know

from way over there

you do not echo anywhere

I am so

lost

the deadliest place is no place new at all

this makes me sad               nothing I haven’t been before

this makes me wonder               nothing I haven’t feared before

this makes me afraid to sleep with the door 

closed

The Watershed

I met her at the cafe where I liked to read the paper in the morning.  At the time she struck me as nothing special: just another smiley college student waiting tables over the summer.  Only after she gave me the wrong coffee three days in a row did I really pay any notice to her.

During her rambling apology—“I’m so sorry, I just can’t remember if the white doily means vanilla or regular, I keep thinking white has to be vanilla and then I think, no, it’s the opposite, and then I get myself all mixed up”—I didn’t know whether to laugh or tell her to go away.  In the end I did neither.   Eventually I would come to wish I had done the latter.

Trapped

No longer me

just a girl on a screen

he bit her once 

she never told

they already knew far
too much

for a shot at forever

a lie wrapped in power

she and he bundled 

together

then lavender powder

a hiss in the ear

and the end of it all

but smoke and threats

no match for this master

yesterday jumps out

again

and again

I am so sorry

she screams in the closet

he made her laugh

he was her friend

Cut Down

I am uncovered here
praying for the snow that 
cannot fall
praying but knowing
that once the winter learns
to let go
nothing can coax it into 
the blistering arms of
summer

Against the Glass

oh how I loved you

more than the tides could ever

love the moon

now silence mocks the faithful

as I ripple with the green grass

go blind from the apathetic sun

The Crossover

A crack

the smooth stone in my hand

mist on the grass

gone

We splintered into warnings:

not yet.  Not yet.

So sorry to hear you cry

for the piercing pain between

your eyes

this sorrow 

not their suggestion 

but a fact

god, let me stay

sent back

Kiss the trees for me, lovely

I am longing

I am so afraid